Pain
by vanessalengies
Summary: She’d stop if she could. But she knows that stopping this physical contact, stopping this brief time where she feels like someone actually gives a damn about her, it would kill her. And despite popular opinion, she isn’t quite ready to die yet. Spellie.


-1**Somewhat spolierish. Just some Ellie spoilers, and if you haven't seen Death Or Glory, then spoilers for that too.**

_Thrust._

She knew he needed this, hell, _she_ needed this. They were both in pain, they needed someone to be there.

_Thrust_

She winced, God, that one hurt. He didn't even notice. She didn't blame him. He had a lot on his mind. Cancer, chemo, trying to graduate this year, she didn't know how he had the strength to do it.

_Thrust_

She glanced at the clock, 4:16am. Had they really been doing this for and hour? It felt so much longer. She glances up at him, his sweaty face, the animalistic gleam in his eyes. She knows he doesn't mean to hurt her. He's just taking out frustration. It was his cancer he was battling, not her. But, as far as she could feel, her name could be fucking cancer right about now.

_Thrust_

She knows that this isn't the way to deal with things, but, fuck it, who is she to give judgment on the way people deal? Happiness is just a slice away. Fuck, that's _such_ a good way to deal.

_Thrust_

Two months, three days, and five hours. Yes, she's keeping track. This is as close to a relationship as any she's getting right now. Two months, three days, and five hours. That is when they first started up this, thing. How fucking pathetic, she doesn't even know what to call this. Dealing sex? Hell, that's a good word for it. She thinks back to the first time…

_He's working at the Dot, finishing up his shift. Today is not really a good day. He's puked five times already. But, he needs money to pay for chemo, needs to work for that money, needs to deal through the pain for that work, to get the money, to pay for chemo. Is it a fucking math problem? He likes to think of it that way. Work + Money Chemo. Chemo No cancer. No cancerliving. Does he even want to live anymore? He's thought about it. Going into the medicine cabinet and taking out the aspirin bottles. Thoughts of his mother, Kendra, and his fucking father ran through his mind. He was disgusted with himself. He decided to fight. So, when he walks outside that cold rainy night, the site he sees makes him want to puke again. There she is. Beautifully broken, as fucking cliché as that line is, that's what he's thinking. She's sitting with her back against the wall of a building in the alley, sipping out of a bottle of vodka, blood stains staining the arms of her white shirt. She's crying._

_He walks over to her, and sits down. Fuck, he needs to sleep, but he can't leave her alone like this. He **won't **be like Sean, her father, or her mother. She needs someone. He thinks back to the guy she was dating, and before he knows it, like she's reading his mind, she says apathetically, "He cheated on me…with Caitlin Ryan." He just wishes he had the strength to go beat that fucking punk up. Sure, him and her hadn't talked in a while, but she did put him in the red zone a couple times freshman year. _

"_Well, I can't pick you up, but I could drive you home?" He says._

_She shakes her head violently. _

"_Why not?" He's really not in the mood to sit and reason with her all night. He's weak, sleeps not to far off. He can tell._

"_Paige will be there. Marco too. I just… I can't let them know yet. See that I've…" She gestures to her arms, "…Again."_

_He thinks to where they could go. His house was certainly out of the question. That would be just what he needed. His mother and Kendra asking a million questions to a girl who obviously didn't want to be confronted._

"_Uhh… My house is a little crowded…"_

"_We can go to my mother's." She doesn't even look up._

"_Won't she be-"_

"_She's in rehab again." Her tone changes then, more child like, like a girl who misses her mother._

"_Oh… I'm sorry."_

"_Fuck it. It's her fucking fault anyways." She gets up and looks him in the eyes, walks past him and goes to his car, waiting for him to unlock the door._

_He follows and when he unlocks the doors, she sits in the passenger seat dejectedly. He decides that it's not a radio kind of drive, and starts the car. As he drives he can't help but look at her out of the corner of his eye. He's waiting for her to do something, something that he wouldn't expect, but it doesn't come. He's slightly disappointed. He pulls up to her house, shuts off the car, and she gets out of the car._

_Once inside the house, he knows he has to get her cleaned up. He asks where her bathroom is, and when she says upstairs, he grabs her hand and drags her up the stairs. She lets out a heavy sigh every step of the way, like its so fucking hard to walk up a flight of stairs. He sees a washcloth on the sink. He wets it, and tells her to roll up her sleeves. She refuses, and not in the mood for an argument, he stares at her. He can tell she's not comfortable being stared at. She obliges. Up goes the sleeves. He's shocked at what he sees. Cuts, and a lot of them, some still bleeding, some dried. He tenderly wiped away the blood, trying not to hurt her. He heard her wince, but she brushed him off. He made his way into her room, grabbed some dry clothes and came back into the bathroom._

"_Take off your shirt." He tells her._

_With the look she gave him, he said it softly. "Come on, you'll get a cold if you keep those wet clothes on."_

_She slowly took off her shirt, when it was off, she dropped it on the floor. She crossed her arms across her chest, covering up her black lacy bra. He could feel himself staring, and even though he knew it was uncomfortable for her, he just couldn't get past how pretty she looked, standing there in the bathroom light. He leaned in and kissed her. He expected her to pull back, slap him even, but she didn't. What he wasn't expecting was for her to grab him, push him into the bathroom wall, which was pretty painful considering how frail he felt, and kiss him senseless. He knows he shouldn't be doing this, but he's in fucking pain, and Jane won't give him the time of day, he needs this. _

_They stumble to her bed and she pushes him down onto it, rips open his shirt, and places light, gentle butterfly kisses across his stomach. She reaches his mouth again and tongue wrestles him, fighting for power. Their clothes get stripped off, and before she knows it, she's under him, getting fucked senseless by the boy who barely had energy half an hour before._

_Thrust_

She looks over at the clock again, 4:20am. Two months, three days, five hours, and six minutes. They've met countless times in those two months, each time the same thing. She doesn't even feel the pleasure anymore. Just the pain. He doesn't show her tenderness anymore, or show her if he even gives a shit about her. He acts like he doesn't notice the new scars across her legs, arms, and stomach.

_Thrust_

She'd stop if she could. But she knows that stopping this physical contact, stopping this brief time where she feels like someone actually gives a damn about her, it would kill her. And despite popular opinion, she isn't quite ready to die yet.

He stops, collapses on top of her, she can smell his sweat.

He rolls off of her, kisses her forehead, and mutters something she hates to hear, "I love you, El."

"I love you too." She whispers as he falls asleep, exhausted.

But she knows he doesn't love her, those three words haunt her dreams at night. She knows everything they are is a lie. But, that's not what scares her the most. It's that she actually loves him, that scares her to death.


End file.
